The Reachby Gear BoxChaptersChapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 1Have you ever gazed into the night sky, littered with its clusters of bright stars and scintillating lights, and wondered what's out there? Of course you have. Many ponies before you have, and many ponies after you will. But how many ponies have actually pondered what's out there? No, not space. Past that. Past the glowing stars, the chromatic nebulae, and the swirling galaxies. How many ponies have delved further than the infinite? Perhaps you may argue that such a thing is impossible, and that “further than the infinite” defeats the “purpose” of the infinite. You should dispel such thinking immediately. There was no purpose then and there is no purpose now, just as there will never be a purpose in the future. Every event, no matter the significance and no matter the scale, is but a speck in a larger scheme. And that, dear reader, is the razor's edge. There is always a larger eye looking down on you. And what, as I'm sure you're wondering, is further than the infinite? The answers vary for everypony, but I believe they may all be condensed into one word. Potential. – – – Darkness. My mind is hazy, but coherent thoughts begin to form soon enough. Had I fallen asleep? I open my eyes. I'm sitting in a wooden chair, looking at a blank sheet of parchment on a table. A quill lies drenched in an ink pot nearby. It's dark outside now, and the only source of light emanates from a single candle's weak flame, barely clinging to life as it struggles to take in oxygen. I smirk at my personification for a brief moment. How apt. I can hear the pendulum of my grandfather's grandfather clock sway back and forth, keeping the time. Yes, the grandfather clock actually belonged to my grandfather. My family has an odd sense of humor; only every other son may possess the clock, so that it can actually be received from a grandfather. Against my better judgment, I raise the dying candle to the face of the clock to view the time. 9:00. I look back down at the blank page. It's been three hours, and I haven't written a single line. Writing has always been a fickle subject for me for many reasons. Everypony I know has always said I have a talent for it, contrary to my cutie mark, or lack thereof. Being a full-grown stallion without a cutie mark is definitely a rarity. I've spoken to many experts on the subject, including Princess Luna herself, but none of them have ever been able to yield any solutions to my problem. By this point in my life, I've begun to accept the fact that I may never receive my cutie mark. It's difficult, considering the society in which I live in is so fixated on everypony having a talent. That may be partly why I became an author. It's one of the few occupations a pony can have that allows him or her to be a hermit. I don't have to subject myself to everypony's stares and whispers out in public. Although I may not think so, according to my family and friends, writing is the talent of which I never received my cutie mark for. Honestly, I'm quite surprised my books even sell. Horror literature isn't exactly a favorite among ponies, but I've seem to have acquired a small following. Dainty Quill, a Canterlot critic that absolutely abhors my work (frankly, I couldn't care less), has taken to calling my fans a “cult”. I find that ironic, considering a good portion of my work usually involves some kind of demonic cult. Truthfully, I'm not sure how I really feel about my readers. Some of them seem to have a few screws loose. A few fans in particular frequently send me mail asking if the various spells and rituals I sometimes include in my works are real, and how they might go about performing them. I never write back. I suppose as long as they keep buying my books and allow me to continue being a recluse, they're no trouble. That is, of course, if I actually write anymore books for them to buy. As of late, I've been plagued with writer's block. I normally draw my inspiration from the few books on Tartarus Twilight Sparkle keeps in her library, but her tree burned down about a week ago, along with everything in it. Nobody was hurt, and although the cause of the fire hasn't been determined yet, Twilight is convinced the whole thing was of malicious intent. Actually, I think she's honestly pegged me as a suspect. She's never been a fan of my work, and when I first walked over to get a look at the remains of the tree, she shot me a glare the likes of which I've never seen. Saying I'm an unconventional writer may be an understatement, but I'm no arsonist. Whatever the case may be, my only source of inspiration was destroyed. I suppose I do have one other muse. My sister is well-renowned scholar in Canterlot, and as such she managed to arrange me a meeting with Princess Luna about my cutie mark condition. After hours of experiments and research, Luna was unable to supply with me any answers, and Celestia was far too busy preparing the Summer Sun Celebration at the time. However, I had managed to pique the younger sister's interest, and she asked if I would send her a few copies of my work. I obliged, and surprisingly enough, she became one of my most avid readers. We're still frequent pen pals, and she may or may not have influenced the ending of one or more of my tales. In fact, I believe she's the only fan I actually write back to. Perhaps I'll ask her to meet me in Ponyville. Maybe she would like to help me with a few ideas. I allow myself to check the time once more. 10:04. The page is still blank. For the first time that night I actually pick the quill up, but not before tipping the well and spilling ink all over the page. I stare at the mess for almost five minutes before I finally manage to pick myself up and go to bed. – – – Chapter 2Knock knock knock! The sound of hoof against wood rouses me from my slumber. I am able to bring myself to my hooves easily, even after being awoken so suddenly. For a writer of horror, I sleep quite comfortably. As I exit my quarters and enter the living room, I pass by my writing desk. The parchment is buried under an ocean of dried ink which has now managed to stain the floor as well. Last night I had complained of that paper being blank; now it seems my complaints have been heard. Like one of the characters in my novels, the universe is ever at odds with me. I sigh, making a mental note to remember to clean that disaster up. Not that I had anything else planned for the day. I catch a glance of the grandfather clock as I step past it. Just how early am I being woken up, anyway? 6:00 P.M. Really? I partly believe that the reason I sleep so comfortably is because I suffer from work-induced mini-comas. As I finally make my way to the front door, it dawns on me that I actually have visitors. I never have visitors. I take a step back from the door and stare at it with certain degree of unnecessary caution. I know I'm not in any danger; this is Ponyville after all. And yet... KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK! Whoever is at my door clearly wants to see me. I make no more delays in opening the door, considering at the last moment that my visitor could be a crazed fan. Instead, I am greeted by two very imposing pegasi, clad in dark armor. Peering behind them, I notice that a large chariot lies in wait, bearing the royal Canterlot seal. I turn back to the two guards, one of which is raising his eyebrow. I realize he must have said something. I struggle for a moment before finding my voice. “I'm sorry, what?” The guard sneers at me before replying, “You are Inkwell, are you not? Her Majesty Princess Luna demands your audience at your earliest convenience.” By the tone of his voice, I can tell that 'at my earliest convenience' means 'Get your flank in the chariot'. “Uh, right. Of course. Just let me pack a few things.”, I say before shutting the door. Too late I realize that slamming it in their faces so abruptly was probably not the best course of action to take. Wait, what? The princess wants to meet with me? And why did I tell those guards I need to pack a few things? I don't exactly have anything necessary for this kind of trip. And for that matter, how long will I be staying? Are we even meeting in Canterlot? I take a deep breath and try to clear my head. This is all oddly convenient. I had planned to send her a letter today, or at least tomorrow, inquiring about meeting me in Ponyville. Not wanting to keep the guards waiting any longer, I find an old saddlebag and empty a roll of parchment into it. I scramble around my house searching for quills in various places, depositing those into the bag as well. As I return to open the door, I brace myself for another angry, impatient glare. Instead, I find that the two guards have already positioned themselves on the front of the chariot, preparing to take flight. Stepping outside the door, I take one last look into my poorly-lit home. For a third time I am greeted with the sea of black stains that is currently drenching my shabby writing environment. Perhaps a break is precisely what I need. – – – The trip from Ponyville to Canterlot is a relatively short one. Two pegasi can see you there in just under forty-five minutes. A good pair will get you there in thirty. These two made it in twenty; I was convinced they were about to produce their very own Sonic Guardboom. Perhaps it is an emergency and Luna truly requires my assistance. But of what use could I be? Instead of touching down on the usual landing grounds outside the front gates, we fly directly over the outer walls and into the heart of the city. It's quite a sight. Not only am I someone who rarely gets out, but Canterlot is suspended thousands of feet in the air, clinging to the side of a cliff. Flying another couple hundred feet above that is simply surreal. From our current position above the city, I can make out the shapes of ponies in the streets. It's nearly dark now, and a multitude of festive lights are being lit up on every corner. I had never thought Canterlot was known for its night life... And then it dawns on me. Tonight is Nightmare Night. I suppose I should be a bit embarrassed for not remembering. People like me are supposed to love this holiday, right? I guess I've just never been one for festivities. Although, now that I think about it, this makes things all the more interesting. Why would Luna ask me to meet with her tonight, of all nights? Won't she be busy scaring the horseshoes off of foals? (Actually, this holiday is kind of amusing). As we near the two largest towers of the city, which I presume to be where the princesses reside, we finally begin our descent. We land in a lengthy field in the center of the famous Canterlot gardens. Four or five other chariots populate the scene. I assume this must be the princesses' very own runway for private correspondents. I consider this thought for a moment. Is that what I am? The two guards unhitch themselves and beckon me to follow them inside. “This way.”, one of them says in a stern tone. They had begun to irritate me by this point. Not only are they sporting a less-than-inviting attitude, they've also failed to brief me on the reasons for this meeting. As such, I decide to inform myself. As we begin our trek toward a set of large double doors on the far side of the gardens, I speak up. “About Luna -” I begin. One of the guards stops and cuts me off. “On a first name basis now, are we?” I hadn't thought about that before. I suppose most other ponies do refer to her as 'Her Majesty', or at the very least, 'Princess'. Perhaps these two were merely being protective of her this whole time. Royalty asking to meet with a lowly commoner of Ponyville is quite strange, after all. I rephrase and start again. “The Princess – did she say why she is requesting to see me?” The guard stares at me for what seems like an eternity, and then whirls around and continues walking towards the doors. The other guard has already reached our destination and stands, waiting for us to catch up. At first, I don't expect to receive a response to my question. “No. I presume you must be important. She's skipping her holiday duties in order to meet with you.” Skipping her holiday duties? What could this possibly be about? Could she - Suddenly the guard speaks again. “Inkwell... where have I heard that name before?” “I'm an author.” “Yes, that's right... You're that Inkwell?” I find myself momentarily surprised to hear a change of tone in his voice. “I suppose so.” “Hm.” He looks back at me as we walk and gives me a brief nod of approval. Once again I am caught off-guard. Could he, of all people, appreciate my work? We walk the rest of the way in silence until we reach the entrance. Both guards simultaneously pull the doors open to reveal a grand dining hall. A plethora of servant-ponies dash around to and fro, rushing to set up preparations for some holiday banquet. A group of pegasi struggle to hang streamers along the ceiling, and a band dressed as scarecrows rehearses on a large stage. The sheer amount of commotion is almost too much to take in. “You'll find Her Majesty in the north tower, not far from here. Exit through those doors to the right, then follow the corridor straight until you reach a spiral staircase. Simply knock when you reach the door. She will answer.” I nod to show my appreciation, and just as I am about to leave, the guard speaks up a final time. “I'm not much of a reader myself, but your one story, about the museum bodyguard – that was a very accurate depiction of the security profession. Thank you.” He then proceeds to salute me. I'm not sure what to say. I open my mouth to try and formulate some kind of a response, but I am stopped by the sound of a familiar, female voice. “Inkwell!” Chapter 3Entering a princess's private quarters is proving to be one of the more uncomfortable experiences in my life. This is mostly because her room doesn't exactly scream “royalty”. In fact, if I hadn't known better I would have assumed it was just another mare's room. The platoon of menacing guards posted just outside the door doesn't help either. The perfectly circular room displays all the basic bedroom amenities; a medium sized canopy bed lies directly across the room between two small nightstands, one of which features a small lamp and a book, the other of which supports a half-empty glass of water. To the left of this, dark blue curtains are draped over a stone archway, which appears to lead outside to the tower's balcony. A small tea table sporting two chairs sits in the center of the room. On the other side, a somewhat messy desk is littered with scattered papers, most of which only have a few lines of scrawl upon them. A porcelain waste bin filled with countless more crumpled sheets is propped at the foot of the desk. I recognize that last scene. Luna must have seen me staring at the mess, because her expression immediately changed from “calm” to “embarrassed”. “Oh! You arrived so early that I had no time to clean. I do not have visitors very often, as I'm sure you can tell.” she says as she practically gallops over to the desk, trying to put has many papers into the already overstuffed waste bin as she can. “I guess you can say I've been, uh, trying my own hoof at writing.” In her haste, she manages to bump over a stray ink pot, spilling the liquid onto her forelegs. She gasps, and in doing so, drops even more papers onto the ground. Exasperated, she looks around at the disaster, and then back up to me. “I'll return in moment! Just – Just wait here!” The princess then dashes out of the room and down the spiral staircase. Well, that was odd. I set my saddlebag down near the center table and walk over to her writing desk, careful to avoid stepping in the ink. I try to rearrange the papers in the bin into a more compact positioning so that they might all inside without overflowing. With a minimal degree of success, I eventually clean the mess up, aside from the ink. After ten minutes, Luna has yet to return. As is to be expected, my curiosity finally gets the best of me. I carefully pick out one of the dry sheets of paper in the bin and begin to read. By Celestia, she has bad mouthwriting. Actually, in her case I suppose it would be “hornwriting”. Being an alicorn, she can use her magic to manipulate the quill, whereas I need to use my mouth because I'm an earth pony. Still, her writing is nearly illegible. It's almost as if it were written by a foal. Slowly but surely, I manage to decipher the brief passage. The characters and setting are actually vaguely familiar. Wait a minute... is this fanfiction? Princess Luna, Goddess of the Night and Stars, has written fanfiction about my work. I then notice a large word underlined at the bottom of the page. “GARBAGE.” I wonder if that says something about both of us. What she wrote wasn't actually terrible, but it definitely wasn't publishable material either. With a little (or a lot of) work, she could have something worth while. Suddenly, the paper is engulfed in a mass of purple energy. Looking towards the door, I see Luna willing it towards her with her magic. She levitates it in front of her for a moment, presumably to see how much I had read. The paper is quickly crumpled up once more and placed in the bin. The princess has cleaned herself up, but she's still wearing an embarrassed expression. I can't help but feel a little guilty; I know what it's like to have someone read unfinished work. “That wasn't that bad, you know. You didn't have to throw it away.” “And you didn't have to clean this up.” she says, peering around her room. “I'm not a very good writer, as I'm sure you were able to tell. I tried writing a few pieces based off of your stories for practice, but they didn't turn out as well as I'd hope they would.” She trots over to the tea table and motions me to sit with her. “Well, if you'd like – ” I begin. “Please, don't trouble yourself over it! It's really just a silly hobby that I'm far too busy to pursue.” The princess puts on a regal smile and reverts back to her former self. “Now! We have much to discuss. In your letters you mentioned Twilight's library burned down and that you were lacking inspiration, correct?” I'm a little caught off-guard by the rapid change of subject. “Uh, yes, that's right. I've been having trouble beginning my newest story this past week.” As I explain my plans to write to her about meeting me in Ponyville, her face lights up. “That's perfect! Although it's much more convenient that we're meeting in Canterlot instead of Ponyville. I doubt I'd be much help on my own.” This piques my interest. “What did you have in mind?” Luna looks side-to-side, as if someone were listening in on us, and then leans in a little too close to me. “Have you ever heard of Canterlot's restricted archives?” she says in a hushed tone. “I know the castle has a library – ” “No, no! Not that. The main library is open to the public. Many years ago, even before my... er, incident, Celestia and I had to deal with the problem of questionable literature. We do not agree with censorship and certainly not book-burnings, but there are some things the common ponies were just not meant to read. As such, we created the Canterlot Restricted Archives. It is there that the most dangerous and darkest secrets of Equestria are held. We never banned the books; we simply put them in a library in which only a select few have access too. The origin of Discord, the creation of The Elements of Harmony – even Celestia and I's ascension – it's all there. These days, Celestia and I are the only ones permitted with access, but I may be able to allow admittance for “special research.”” She finishes with a sly wink. Restricted archives? That's exactly what I need! I'm sure there's plenty more than a few books on the denizens of Tartarus in there. And yet, something about this doesn't seem quite right. “That sounds perfect Luna, but are sure Celestia won't mind?” I ask. She pauses for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. Then she speaks. “Well... what she doesn't know won't hurt her, right?” “But if she did find out, wouldn't she – ” I stop, attempting to choose my words carefully. “ – wouldn't she... you know...” The princess looks down, still smiling. “Go on. You can say it Inkwell. Send me to the moon?” An awkward silence fills the room, but it is soon dispersed by Luna's uncontrolled laughter. I can't help but join in myself. “We will be fine Inkwell! Tia is far too busy with the festivities to notice.” “Speaking of festivities, I can't thank you enough for this. You really didn't have to skip your holiday duties for this.” “Skip my holi- Oh, that's right! Don't be so naïve Inkwell! You didn't think I would just let you into the archives without something in return, did you?” I suddenly don't like the sound of this. “I'm sorry, but I don't understand.” She lets out a giggle that sounds like it's from filly. “This will be the best Night Mare Night yet! Oh, the foals are going to love you!” Wait, what? – – – Chapter 4Princess Luna's new, playful attitude is so unbecoming of her, one would never think that only a few years ago part of her had tried to overthrow her own sister's reign. Although, who am I to say “unbecoming”? For this entire time that I've known her, she's always had a somewhat whimsical air about her. I suppose like everypony else, I've been influenced by the old mare's tale of her being a dark and terrible tyrant. “Every year we put on a disguise To save ourselves from her searching eyes But Nightmare Moon just wants only one thing To gobble up ponies in one quick swing...” Maybe before her transformation all those years ago, she was just as fun-loving as she is now (even if only in a more archaic way). Besides, who can blame her? We've all got a little bit of darkness inside of us. Incidentally, Luna's inner darkness has apparently found it necessary that I participate in this year's festivities. After numerous failed attempts to “peacefully” coax me out of her room and down to the dining hall, she eventually resorted to having her personal guards apprehend me. If this is what my tax bits are paying them for, I'll be bucked if Celestia doesn't hear about it. As a result, I now stand on a small stage in the dining hall, being stared down by nearly three dozen foals. As I understand it, Luna has arranged for me to be this year's “Scary Story Teller”. There is a very small chance that maybe, just maybe, had I been given preparation time, I would have agreed to this. Unfortunately, Luna must think it hilarious to see me standing up here without a story to tell, given she's hiding in the back of the hall, snickering. A few of the servant-ponies dash around the room, dousing a few of the braziers, and in turn dimming the room. One of them brings me my own candle, which I assume I'm supposed to use for effect. At least it's dark. Maybe they won't notice that I'm still a blank-flank. “Heya mister! Where's yer cutie mark?” Horseapples. I'm not sure how this little red-headed filly managed to figure that out from the back of the audience, but she did. The crowd of foals begins to murmur and whisper. I think a few of them are even giggling. Great, just like school all over again. Another orange filly standing next to the red-haired one speaks up. “I don't think he has one! He's just like us! Hey mister, how'd you like to be a Cutie Mark Cru -” “Quiet now, everyone!” A purple mare who I vaguely recognize from Ponyville finally hushes the children. “This stallion's name is Inkwell, and he's an author. He writes scary stories for a living, so I'm sure he has an interesting tale to tell us. Don't you, Mr. Inkwell?” Not likely. I don't have any of my books memorized. What am I supposed to say? A white filly sitting next to the first two attempts to push her head above those in front of her. “Tell us why you don't have your cutie mark, sir! Didn't you ever find your special talent? Isn't it writing?” They're not going to let up, are they? I struggle, trying to find the words to say. How could I when I don't even know the answer myself? “Well, I uh...” The purple mare, who I now recognize as Cherilee the school teacher, puts her hoof over the white filly's mouth. “Oh, now don't be rude! That's his private business. I'm sure Mr. Inkwell would like to keep it that way.” Wait, that's it. “Actually, Miss Cherilee, it's quite all right. The story I've come to tell tonight is precisely about why I do not have my cutie mark. Tell me, colts and fillies, have you ever heard of the Cutie Mark Eater?” I notice the three most belligerent fillies in the audience have pushed their way to the very front of the stage. They stare directly up at me with a keen mixture of interest and fear that I cannot find in any of the other foals. I'm not telling this story to them. I'm telling it to these three. “Th-th-the Cutie Mark Eater? What in tarnation's th-that?” the red-haired one stutters. “Why, he's only one of the most evil spirits to ever break free from the gates of Tartaurus." ” “But he actually eats cutie marks? How's he do that?” the orange one says, appearing skeptical. “Oh, yes! But he doesn't just eat them. He absorbs them. Late at night, when everypony is asleep, he'll slip in through a window and slowly creep to your bedside. He'll take the covers off to reveal your cutie mark, and just like that... he rips it off!” A simultaneous 'Eep!' ripples through the crowd as I exaggerate my voice. This is proving to be more fun than I thought it would be. “B-but why doesn't Princess Celestia stop him?” the white one asks. “Ah, an excellent question. Because she can't find him! You see, nopony has ever actually seen him. When he's feeding on cutie marks, he becomes invisible; a shadow, actually. But here's the thing: when he isn't hunting ponies, he looks just like you and I. Like all spirits, before he became a phantom, he was a living pony. The legend says that he never received his cutie mark or figured out his special talent. He became angry, spiteful, and jealous. Because of this, when his time came, he never went on to greener pastures. Instead, he became a haunting spirit and was sent to Tartaurus. But now, he's escaped! Still seething with hate for never receiving his cutie mark, he's decided that he'll steal others'. He looks just like a normal pony too, so I guess we'd never know who he was, even if he was standing right in front of us.” I top my story of with a devilish grin. The foals, now trembling, seem to be much more scared of me rather than the story. Good, I think they've caught on. The white one speaks again. “But sir, what if he goes after a filly that doesn't have a cutie mark? We're safe, right?!” A let out a particularly sinister laugh. “Oh, my little ponies. That's the absolute worst possible thing that could happen. You see... if he goes after a filly and discovers she has no cutie mark for him to eat, well... he'll be quite angry. So instead of eating a cutie mark... he'll... eat... you!” I throw my hooves up in the air and snarl at them for good measure. All at once, the foals jump into the air screaming and dash out of the hall. Poor Miss Cherilee gives chase, trying to calm them down. In mere seconds, Luna and I are the only ones left in the room. I step off the stage and begin to walk towards her. “That was quite the story Inkwell! I never knew you were such a performer.” the princess says, smiling. “Maybe you should come back next year!” “Heh. Maybe. But you'll have to actually give me a 2-weeks notice to prepare something next time. Celestia knows where I pulled that story out of. I really had to step out of my comfort-zone for that one.” She laughs. “Nonsense, you were wonderful. The foals loved it! Or rather, they will when they're done screaming their heads off.” We both look outside the windows to see Miss Cherilee attempting to round up her students as they scramble around through the gardens. “Eh... she'll be fine.” I can't help but feel a little guilty for the schoolteacher. “Are you sure? I mean, I can go -” “She'll be fine! Have you forgotten what you're here for, Inkwell? You held up your end of the bargain, now I shall hold up mine.” She spits in her hoof and extends it in front of me. Not what I'd expect from royalty, but it's not like anything else has been normal today. I do the same and shake hooves with her. “Can you imagine if Celestia saw us doing this?” I say, chuckling. “Ugh, she'd have a foal and send us both to the moon. Now, come on! We've got rules to break.” she replies, grinning. Chapter 5To say that Canterlot Palace is an architectural marvel is an understatement. Up until tonight, like most ponies, I had no knowledge of the subterranean depths that extend deep into the mountain Canterlot is built upon. After accessing a secret passageway in Luna's room, she led me through a deep, pony-made cavern and into a second, underground palace, which she calls “Old Canterlot”. We now quietly make our way through this lost kingdom, the princess's horn lighting the way. The ancient, earthen walls of the cavern gave way to the even more ancient, granite walls of the central dome of the palace I see before me now. Large, stone pillars extend upwards to support an unseen ceiling, shrouded by darkness. Crumbled buildings and passageways line the edges of the chamber. A decrepit stench of which I am unable to properly describe floats in the air. This kind of atmosphere, this level of ruin... it is not something that mars the innocence of Celestia's Equestria. No, this place is something different entirely. We continue to walk through the darkness of the immense dome, pillars trailing us on either side. Although she is unable to see what lies in front of her, Luna seems to know precisely where she is going. Actually, I haven't noticed until now, but Luna hasn't said a single word since we've entered this place. Her face is stoic, void of any emotion. This unnerves me, perhaps more than it should. “Luna,” I begin. “this place... what happened here?” She opens her mouth as if to speak, but promptly shuts it only a moment later. I know exactly what she's feeling, probably more than others would, and allow her to find the proper words to say. "Time happened, Inkwell. Just as it happens to everything... everything except us." Her voice sails into the darkness and is drowned out by the cavernous depths. It eventually reverberates off some distant wall and echoes through the dome. Only this time, it doesn't quite sound like Luna's voice. "...Just as it happens to everything... everything except you." No, that can't be. Before I can say anything, Luna speaks up once more. "Come, the library is just through here." She suddenly shifts into a trot as we move out of the main dome and into a small corridor wedged between two toppled pillars. We enter a new room in which we're greeted by rows upon rows of bookcases. Books of all sizes line their shelves for as far as the eye can see. Luna's horn emits multiple orbs of energy which rise to the ceiling, their light dispersing the remaining darkness. This must be the library. I catch sight of a faint smile making it's way across Luna's lips. She was comfortable to be here. She was happy. What seems like decrepit ruins to me must hold untold aeons of memories for her. “I have a feeling I know exactly what you're looking for.” she says, breaking the momentary silence. “Wait here. And don't touch anything!” She gallops off down the aisles, and eventually takes a sharp left between two bookcases, disappearing from my view. “Princess...?” I say, too quiet to produce an echo, but not quiet loud enough for Luna to hear me. I glance upwards at her improvised lighting, the orbs still floating in the air. She couldn't have gone terribly far. I investigate my immediate surroundings, hoping to preoccupy my mind until the princess returns. The chamber is surprisingly clean, albeit covered in dust. Not a single paper nor ink stain litters the peaceful sanctuary. A few tables have been placed before the towering bookcases, forming a sort of common room. Several open books lay scattered amongst their surfaces. Though my curiosity is piqued, Luna specifically said not to touch anything. Still... literature from centuries ago? A pony couldn't find this anywhere else. The books lie there, a mere 15 feet from me, taunting me with their pages. I suppose just looking couldn't hurt.
Chapter 1Have you ever gazed into the night sky, littered with its clusters of bright stars and scintillating lights, and wondered what's out there? Of course you have. Many ponies before you have, and many ponies after you will. But how many ponies have actually pondered what's out there? No, not space. Past that. Past the glowing stars, the chromatic nebulae, and the swirling galaxies. How many ponies have delved further than the infinite? Perhaps you may argue that such a thing is impossible, and that “further than the infinite” defeats the “purpose” of the infinite. You should dispel such thinking immediately. There was no purpose then and there is no purpose now, just as there will never be a purpose in the future. Every event, no matter the significance and no matter the scale, is but a speck in a larger scheme. And that, dear reader, is the razor's edge. There is always a larger eye looking down on you. And what, as I'm sure you're wondering, is further than the infinite? The answers vary for everypony, but I believe they may all be condensed into one word. Potential. – – – Darkness. My mind is hazy, but coherent thoughts begin to form soon enough. Had I fallen asleep? I open my eyes. I'm sitting in a wooden chair, looking at a blank sheet of parchment on a table. A quill lies drenched in an ink pot nearby. It's dark outside now, and the only source of light emanates from a single candle's weak flame, barely clinging to life as it struggles to take in oxygen. I smirk at my personification for a brief moment. How apt. I can hear the pendulum of my grandfather's grandfather clock sway back and forth, keeping the time. Yes, the grandfather clock actually belonged to my grandfather. My family has an odd sense of humor; only every other son may possess the clock, so that it can actually be received from a grandfather. Against my better judgment, I raise the dying candle to the face of the clock to view the time. 9:00. I look back down at the blank page. It's been three hours, and I haven't written a single line. Writing has always been a fickle subject for me for many reasons. Everypony I know has always said I have a talent for it, contrary to my cutie mark, or lack thereof. Being a full-grown stallion without a cutie mark is definitely a rarity. I've spoken to many experts on the subject, including Princess Luna herself, but none of them have ever been able to yield any solutions to my problem. By this point in my life, I've begun to accept the fact that I may never receive my cutie mark. It's difficult, considering the society in which I live in is so fixated on everypony having a talent. That may be partly why I became an author. It's one of the few occupations a pony can have that allows him or her to be a hermit. I don't have to subject myself to everypony's stares and whispers out in public. Although I may not think so, according to my family and friends, writing is the talent of which I never received my cutie mark for. Honestly, I'm quite surprised my books even sell. Horror literature isn't exactly a favorite among ponies, but I've seem to have acquired a small following. Dainty Quill, a Canterlot critic that absolutely abhors my work (frankly, I couldn't care less), has taken to calling my fans a “cult”. I find that ironic, considering a good portion of my work usually involves some kind of demonic cult. Truthfully, I'm not sure how I really feel about my readers. Some of them seem to have a few screws loose. A few fans in particular frequently send me mail asking if the various spells and rituals I sometimes include in my works are real, and how they might go about performing them. I never write back. I suppose as long as they keep buying my books and allow me to continue being a recluse, they're no trouble. That is, of course, if I actually write anymore books for them to buy. As of late, I've been plagued with writer's block. I normally draw my inspiration from the few books on Tartarus Twilight Sparkle keeps in her library, but her tree burned down about a week ago, along with everything in it. Nobody was hurt, and although the cause of the fire hasn't been determined yet, Twilight is convinced the whole thing was of malicious intent. Actually, I think she's honestly pegged me as a suspect. She's never been a fan of my work, and when I first walked over to get a look at the remains of the tree, she shot me a glare the likes of which I've never seen. Saying I'm an unconventional writer may be an understatement, but I'm no arsonist. Whatever the case may be, my only source of inspiration was destroyed. I suppose I do have one other muse. My sister is well-renowned scholar in Canterlot, and as such she managed to arrange me a meeting with Princess Luna about my cutie mark condition. After hours of experiments and research, Luna was unable to supply with me any answers, and Celestia was far too busy preparing the Summer Sun Celebration at the time. However, I had managed to pique the younger sister's interest, and she asked if I would send her a few copies of my work. I obliged, and surprisingly enough, she became one of my most avid readers. We're still frequent pen pals, and she may or may not have influenced the ending of one or more of my tales. In fact, I believe she's the only fan I actually write back to. Perhaps I'll ask her to meet me in Ponyville. Maybe she would like to help me with a few ideas. I allow myself to check the time once more. 10:04. The page is still blank. For the first time that night I actually pick the quill up, but not before tipping the well and spilling ink all over the page. I stare at the mess for almost five minutes before I finally manage to pick myself up and go to bed. – – –
Chapter 2Knock knock knock! The sound of hoof against wood rouses me from my slumber. I am able to bring myself to my hooves easily, even after being awoken so suddenly. For a writer of horror, I sleep quite comfortably. As I exit my quarters and enter the living room, I pass by my writing desk. The parchment is buried under an ocean of dried ink which has now managed to stain the floor as well. Last night I had complained of that paper being blank; now it seems my complaints have been heard. Like one of the characters in my novels, the universe is ever at odds with me. I sigh, making a mental note to remember to clean that disaster up. Not that I had anything else planned for the day. I catch a glance of the grandfather clock as I step past it. Just how early am I being woken up, anyway? 6:00 P.M. Really? I partly believe that the reason I sleep so comfortably is because I suffer from work-induced mini-comas. As I finally make my way to the front door, it dawns on me that I actually have visitors. I never have visitors. I take a step back from the door and stare at it with certain degree of unnecessary caution. I know I'm not in any danger; this is Ponyville after all. And yet... KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK! Whoever is at my door clearly wants to see me. I make no more delays in opening the door, considering at the last moment that my visitor could be a crazed fan. Instead, I am greeted by two very imposing pegasi, clad in dark armor. Peering behind them, I notice that a large chariot lies in wait, bearing the royal Canterlot seal. I turn back to the two guards, one of which is raising his eyebrow. I realize he must have said something. I struggle for a moment before finding my voice. “I'm sorry, what?” The guard sneers at me before replying, “You are Inkwell, are you not? Her Majesty Princess Luna demands your audience at your earliest convenience.” By the tone of his voice, I can tell that 'at my earliest convenience' means 'Get your flank in the chariot'. “Uh, right. Of course. Just let me pack a few things.”, I say before shutting the door. Too late I realize that slamming it in their faces so abruptly was probably not the best course of action to take. Wait, what? The princess wants to meet with me? And why did I tell those guards I need to pack a few things? I don't exactly have anything necessary for this kind of trip. And for that matter, how long will I be staying? Are we even meeting in Canterlot? I take a deep breath and try to clear my head. This is all oddly convenient. I had planned to send her a letter today, or at least tomorrow, inquiring about meeting me in Ponyville. Not wanting to keep the guards waiting any longer, I find an old saddlebag and empty a roll of parchment into it. I scramble around my house searching for quills in various places, depositing those into the bag as well. As I return to open the door, I brace myself for another angry, impatient glare. Instead, I find that the two guards have already positioned themselves on the front of the chariot, preparing to take flight. Stepping outside the door, I take one last look into my poorly-lit home. For a third time I am greeted with the sea of black stains that is currently drenching my shabby writing environment. Perhaps a break is precisely what I need. – – – The trip from Ponyville to Canterlot is a relatively short one. Two pegasi can see you there in just under forty-five minutes. A good pair will get you there in thirty. These two made it in twenty; I was convinced they were about to produce their very own Sonic Guardboom. Perhaps it is an emergency and Luna truly requires my assistance. But of what use could I be? Instead of touching down on the usual landing grounds outside the front gates, we fly directly over the outer walls and into the heart of the city. It's quite a sight. Not only am I someone who rarely gets out, but Canterlot is suspended thousands of feet in the air, clinging to the side of a cliff. Flying another couple hundred feet above that is simply surreal. From our current position above the city, I can make out the shapes of ponies in the streets. It's nearly dark now, and a multitude of festive lights are being lit up on every corner. I had never thought Canterlot was known for its night life... And then it dawns on me. Tonight is Nightmare Night. I suppose I should be a bit embarrassed for not remembering. People like me are supposed to love this holiday, right? I guess I've just never been one for festivities. Although, now that I think about it, this makes things all the more interesting. Why would Luna ask me to meet with her tonight, of all nights? Won't she be busy scaring the horseshoes off of foals? (Actually, this holiday is kind of amusing). As we near the two largest towers of the city, which I presume to be where the princesses reside, we finally begin our descent. We land in a lengthy field in the center of the famous Canterlot gardens. Four or five other chariots populate the scene. I assume this must be the princesses' very own runway for private correspondents. I consider this thought for a moment. Is that what I am? The two guards unhitch themselves and beckon me to follow them inside. “This way.”, one of them says in a stern tone. They had begun to irritate me by this point. Not only are they sporting a less-than-inviting attitude, they've also failed to brief me on the reasons for this meeting. As such, I decide to inform myself. As we begin our trek toward a set of large double doors on the far side of the gardens, I speak up. “About Luna -” I begin. One of the guards stops and cuts me off. “On a first name basis now, are we?” I hadn't thought about that before. I suppose most other ponies do refer to her as 'Her Majesty', or at the very least, 'Princess'. Perhaps these two were merely being protective of her this whole time. Royalty asking to meet with a lowly commoner of Ponyville is quite strange, after all. I rephrase and start again. “The Princess – did she say why she is requesting to see me?” The guard stares at me for what seems like an eternity, and then whirls around and continues walking towards the doors. The other guard has already reached our destination and stands, waiting for us to catch up. At first, I don't expect to receive a response to my question. “No. I presume you must be important. She's skipping her holiday duties in order to meet with you.” Skipping her holiday duties? What could this possibly be about? Could she - Suddenly the guard speaks again. “Inkwell... where have I heard that name before?” “I'm an author.” “Yes, that's right... You're that Inkwell?” I find myself momentarily surprised to hear a change of tone in his voice. “I suppose so.” “Hm.” He looks back at me as we walk and gives me a brief nod of approval. Once again I am caught off-guard. Could he, of all people, appreciate my work? We walk the rest of the way in silence until we reach the entrance. Both guards simultaneously pull the doors open to reveal a grand dining hall. A plethora of servant-ponies dash around to and fro, rushing to set up preparations for some holiday banquet. A group of pegasi struggle to hang streamers along the ceiling, and a band dressed as scarecrows rehearses on a large stage. The sheer amount of commotion is almost too much to take in. “You'll find Her Majesty in the north tower, not far from here. Exit through those doors to the right, then follow the corridor straight until you reach a spiral staircase. Simply knock when you reach the door. She will answer.” I nod to show my appreciation, and just as I am about to leave, the guard speaks up a final time. “I'm not much of a reader myself, but your one story, about the museum bodyguard – that was a very accurate depiction of the security profession. Thank you.” He then proceeds to salute me. I'm not sure what to say. I open my mouth to try and formulate some kind of a response, but I am stopped by the sound of a familiar, female voice. “Inkwell!”
Chapter 3Entering a princess's private quarters is proving to be one of the more uncomfortable experiences in my life. This is mostly because her room doesn't exactly scream “royalty”. In fact, if I hadn't known better I would have assumed it was just another mare's room. The platoon of menacing guards posted just outside the door doesn't help either. The perfectly circular room displays all the basic bedroom amenities; a medium sized canopy bed lies directly across the room between two small nightstands, one of which features a small lamp and a book, the other of which supports a half-empty glass of water. To the left of this, dark blue curtains are draped over a stone archway, which appears to lead outside to the tower's balcony. A small tea table sporting two chairs sits in the center of the room. On the other side, a somewhat messy desk is littered with scattered papers, most of which only have a few lines of scrawl upon them. A porcelain waste bin filled with countless more crumpled sheets is propped at the foot of the desk. I recognize that last scene. Luna must have seen me staring at the mess, because her expression immediately changed from “calm” to “embarrassed”. “Oh! You arrived so early that I had no time to clean. I do not have visitors very often, as I'm sure you can tell.” she says as she practically gallops over to the desk, trying to put has many papers into the already overstuffed waste bin as she can. “I guess you can say I've been, uh, trying my own hoof at writing.” In her haste, she manages to bump over a stray ink pot, spilling the liquid onto her forelegs. She gasps, and in doing so, drops even more papers onto the ground. Exasperated, she looks around at the disaster, and then back up to me. “I'll return in moment! Just – Just wait here!” The princess then dashes out of the room and down the spiral staircase. Well, that was odd. I set my saddlebag down near the center table and walk over to her writing desk, careful to avoid stepping in the ink. I try to rearrange the papers in the bin into a more compact positioning so that they might all inside without overflowing. With a minimal degree of success, I eventually clean the mess up, aside from the ink. After ten minutes, Luna has yet to return. As is to be expected, my curiosity finally gets the best of me. I carefully pick out one of the dry sheets of paper in the bin and begin to read. By Celestia, she has bad mouthwriting. Actually, in her case I suppose it would be “hornwriting”. Being an alicorn, she can use her magic to manipulate the quill, whereas I need to use my mouth because I'm an earth pony. Still, her writing is nearly illegible. It's almost as if it were written by a foal. Slowly but surely, I manage to decipher the brief passage. The characters and setting are actually vaguely familiar. Wait a minute... is this fanfiction? Princess Luna, Goddess of the Night and Stars, has written fanfiction about my work. I then notice a large word underlined at the bottom of the page. “GARBAGE.” I wonder if that says something about both of us. What she wrote wasn't actually terrible, but it definitely wasn't publishable material either. With a little (or a lot of) work, she could have something worth while. Suddenly, the paper is engulfed in a mass of purple energy. Looking towards the door, I see Luna willing it towards her with her magic. She levitates it in front of her for a moment, presumably to see how much I had read. The paper is quickly crumpled up once more and placed in the bin. The princess has cleaned herself up, but she's still wearing an embarrassed expression. I can't help but feel a little guilty; I know what it's like to have someone read unfinished work. “That wasn't that bad, you know. You didn't have to throw it away.” “And you didn't have to clean this up.” she says, peering around her room. “I'm not a very good writer, as I'm sure you were able to tell. I tried writing a few pieces based off of your stories for practice, but they didn't turn out as well as I'd hope they would.” She trots over to the tea table and motions me to sit with her. “Well, if you'd like – ” I begin. “Please, don't trouble yourself over it! It's really just a silly hobby that I'm far too busy to pursue.” The princess puts on a regal smile and reverts back to her former self. “Now! We have much to discuss. In your letters you mentioned Twilight's library burned down and that you were lacking inspiration, correct?” I'm a little caught off-guard by the rapid change of subject. “Uh, yes, that's right. I've been having trouble beginning my newest story this past week.” As I explain my plans to write to her about meeting me in Ponyville, her face lights up. “That's perfect! Although it's much more convenient that we're meeting in Canterlot instead of Ponyville. I doubt I'd be much help on my own.” This piques my interest. “What did you have in mind?” Luna looks side-to-side, as if someone were listening in on us, and then leans in a little too close to me. “Have you ever heard of Canterlot's restricted archives?” she says in a hushed tone. “I know the castle has a library – ” “No, no! Not that. The main library is open to the public. Many years ago, even before my... er, incident, Celestia and I had to deal with the problem of questionable literature. We do not agree with censorship and certainly not book-burnings, but there are some things the common ponies were just not meant to read. As such, we created the Canterlot Restricted Archives. It is there that the most dangerous and darkest secrets of Equestria are held. We never banned the books; we simply put them in a library in which only a select few have access too. The origin of Discord, the creation of The Elements of Harmony – even Celestia and I's ascension – it's all there. These days, Celestia and I are the only ones permitted with access, but I may be able to allow admittance for “special research.”” She finishes with a sly wink. Restricted archives? That's exactly what I need! I'm sure there's plenty more than a few books on the denizens of Tartarus in there. And yet, something about this doesn't seem quite right. “That sounds perfect Luna, but are sure Celestia won't mind?” I ask. She pauses for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. Then she speaks. “Well... what she doesn't know won't hurt her, right?” “But if she did find out, wouldn't she – ” I stop, attempting to choose my words carefully. “ – wouldn't she... you know...” The princess looks down, still smiling. “Go on. You can say it Inkwell. Send me to the moon?” An awkward silence fills the room, but it is soon dispersed by Luna's uncontrolled laughter. I can't help but join in myself. “We will be fine Inkwell! Tia is far too busy with the festivities to notice.” “Speaking of festivities, I can't thank you enough for this. You really didn't have to skip your holiday duties for this.” “Skip my holi- Oh, that's right! Don't be so naïve Inkwell! You didn't think I would just let you into the archives without something in return, did you?” I suddenly don't like the sound of this. “I'm sorry, but I don't understand.” She lets out a giggle that sounds like it's from filly. “This will be the best Night Mare Night yet! Oh, the foals are going to love you!” Wait, what? – – –
Chapter 4Princess Luna's new, playful attitude is so unbecoming of her, one would never think that only a few years ago part of her had tried to overthrow her own sister's reign. Although, who am I to say “unbecoming”? For this entire time that I've known her, she's always had a somewhat whimsical air about her. I suppose like everypony else, I've been influenced by the old mare's tale of her being a dark and terrible tyrant. “Every year we put on a disguise To save ourselves from her searching eyes But Nightmare Moon just wants only one thing To gobble up ponies in one quick swing...” Maybe before her transformation all those years ago, she was just as fun-loving as she is now (even if only in a more archaic way). Besides, who can blame her? We've all got a little bit of darkness inside of us. Incidentally, Luna's inner darkness has apparently found it necessary that I participate in this year's festivities. After numerous failed attempts to “peacefully” coax me out of her room and down to the dining hall, she eventually resorted to having her personal guards apprehend me. If this is what my tax bits are paying them for, I'll be bucked if Celestia doesn't hear about it. As a result, I now stand on a small stage in the dining hall, being stared down by nearly three dozen foals. As I understand it, Luna has arranged for me to be this year's “Scary Story Teller”. There is a very small chance that maybe, just maybe, had I been given preparation time, I would have agreed to this. Unfortunately, Luna must think it hilarious to see me standing up here without a story to tell, given she's hiding in the back of the hall, snickering. A few of the servant-ponies dash around the room, dousing a few of the braziers, and in turn dimming the room. One of them brings me my own candle, which I assume I'm supposed to use for effect. At least it's dark. Maybe they won't notice that I'm still a blank-flank. “Heya mister! Where's yer cutie mark?” Horseapples. I'm not sure how this little red-headed filly managed to figure that out from the back of the audience, but she did. The crowd of foals begins to murmur and whisper. I think a few of them are even giggling. Great, just like school all over again. Another orange filly standing next to the red-haired one speaks up. “I don't think he has one! He's just like us! Hey mister, how'd you like to be a Cutie Mark Cru -” “Quiet now, everyone!” A purple mare who I vaguely recognize from Ponyville finally hushes the children. “This stallion's name is Inkwell, and he's an author. He writes scary stories for a living, so I'm sure he has an interesting tale to tell us. Don't you, Mr. Inkwell?” Not likely. I don't have any of my books memorized. What am I supposed to say? A white filly sitting next to the first two attempts to push her head above those in front of her. “Tell us why you don't have your cutie mark, sir! Didn't you ever find your special talent? Isn't it writing?” They're not going to let up, are they? I struggle, trying to find the words to say. How could I when I don't even know the answer myself? “Well, I uh...” The purple mare, who I now recognize as Cherilee the school teacher, puts her hoof over the white filly's mouth. “Oh, now don't be rude! That's his private business. I'm sure Mr. Inkwell would like to keep it that way.” Wait, that's it. “Actually, Miss Cherilee, it's quite all right. The story I've come to tell tonight is precisely about why I do not have my cutie mark. Tell me, colts and fillies, have you ever heard of the Cutie Mark Eater?” I notice the three most belligerent fillies in the audience have pushed their way to the very front of the stage. They stare directly up at me with a keen mixture of interest and fear that I cannot find in any of the other foals. I'm not telling this story to them. I'm telling it to these three. “Th-th-the Cutie Mark Eater? What in tarnation's th-that?” the red-haired one stutters. “Why, he's only one of the most evil spirits to ever break free from the gates of Tartaurus." ” “But he actually eats cutie marks? How's he do that?” the orange one says, appearing skeptical. “Oh, yes! But he doesn't just eat them. He absorbs them. Late at night, when everypony is asleep, he'll slip in through a window and slowly creep to your bedside. He'll take the covers off to reveal your cutie mark, and just like that... he rips it off!” A simultaneous 'Eep!' ripples through the crowd as I exaggerate my voice. This is proving to be more fun than I thought it would be. “B-but why doesn't Princess Celestia stop him?” the white one asks. “Ah, an excellent question. Because she can't find him! You see, nopony has ever actually seen him. When he's feeding on cutie marks, he becomes invisible; a shadow, actually. But here's the thing: when he isn't hunting ponies, he looks just like you and I. Like all spirits, before he became a phantom, he was a living pony. The legend says that he never received his cutie mark or figured out his special talent. He became angry, spiteful, and jealous. Because of this, when his time came, he never went on to greener pastures. Instead, he became a haunting spirit and was sent to Tartaurus. But now, he's escaped! Still seething with hate for never receiving his cutie mark, he's decided that he'll steal others'. He looks just like a normal pony too, so I guess we'd never know who he was, even if he was standing right in front of us.” I top my story of with a devilish grin. The foals, now trembling, seem to be much more scared of me rather than the story. Good, I think they've caught on. The white one speaks again. “But sir, what if he goes after a filly that doesn't have a cutie mark? We're safe, right?!” A let out a particularly sinister laugh. “Oh, my little ponies. That's the absolute worst possible thing that could happen. You see... if he goes after a filly and discovers she has no cutie mark for him to eat, well... he'll be quite angry. So instead of eating a cutie mark... he'll... eat... you!” I throw my hooves up in the air and snarl at them for good measure. All at once, the foals jump into the air screaming and dash out of the hall. Poor Miss Cherilee gives chase, trying to calm them down. In mere seconds, Luna and I are the only ones left in the room. I step off the stage and begin to walk towards her. “That was quite the story Inkwell! I never knew you were such a performer.” the princess says, smiling. “Maybe you should come back next year!” “Heh. Maybe. But you'll have to actually give me a 2-weeks notice to prepare something next time. Celestia knows where I pulled that story out of. I really had to step out of my comfort-zone for that one.” She laughs. “Nonsense, you were wonderful. The foals loved it! Or rather, they will when they're done screaming their heads off.” We both look outside the windows to see Miss Cherilee attempting to round up her students as they scramble around through the gardens. “Eh... she'll be fine.” I can't help but feel a little guilty for the schoolteacher. “Are you sure? I mean, I can go -” “She'll be fine! Have you forgotten what you're here for, Inkwell? You held up your end of the bargain, now I shall hold up mine.” She spits in her hoof and extends it in front of me. Not what I'd expect from royalty, but it's not like anything else has been normal today. I do the same and shake hooves with her. “Can you imagine if Celestia saw us doing this?” I say, chuckling. “Ugh, she'd have a foal and send us both to the moon. Now, come on! We've got rules to break.” she replies, grinning.
Chapter 5To say that Canterlot Palace is an architectural marvel is an understatement. Up until tonight, like most ponies, I had no knowledge of the subterranean depths that extend deep into the mountain Canterlot is built upon. After accessing a secret passageway in Luna's room, she led me through a deep, pony-made cavern and into a second, underground palace, which she calls “Old Canterlot”. We now quietly make our way through this lost kingdom, the princess's horn lighting the way. The ancient, earthen walls of the cavern gave way to the even more ancient, granite walls of the central dome of the palace I see before me now. Large, stone pillars extend upwards to support an unseen ceiling, shrouded by darkness. Crumbled buildings and passageways line the edges of the chamber. A decrepit stench of which I am unable to properly describe floats in the air. This kind of atmosphere, this level of ruin... it is not something that mars the innocence of Celestia's Equestria. No, this place is something different entirely. We continue to walk through the darkness of the immense dome, pillars trailing us on either side. Although she is unable to see what lies in front of her, Luna seems to know precisely where she is going. Actually, I haven't noticed until now, but Luna hasn't said a single word since we've entered this place. Her face is stoic, void of any emotion. This unnerves me, perhaps more than it should. “Luna,” I begin. “this place... what happened here?” She opens her mouth as if to speak, but promptly shuts it only a moment later. I know exactly what she's feeling, probably more than others would, and allow her to find the proper words to say. "Time happened, Inkwell. Just as it happens to everything... everything except us." Her voice sails into the darkness and is drowned out by the cavernous depths. It eventually reverberates off some distant wall and echoes through the dome. Only this time, it doesn't quite sound like Luna's voice. "...Just as it happens to everything... everything except you." No, that can't be. Before I can say anything, Luna speaks up once more. "Come, the library is just through here." She suddenly shifts into a trot as we move out of the main dome and into a small corridor wedged between two toppled pillars. We enter a new room in which we're greeted by rows upon rows of bookcases. Books of all sizes line their shelves for as far as the eye can see. Luna's horn emits multiple orbs of energy which rise to the ceiling, their light dispersing the remaining darkness. This must be the library. I catch sight of a faint smile making it's way across Luna's lips. She was comfortable to be here. She was happy. What seems like decrepit ruins to me must hold untold aeons of memories for her. “I have a feeling I know exactly what you're looking for.” she says, breaking the momentary silence. “Wait here. And don't touch anything!” She gallops off down the aisles, and eventually takes a sharp left between two bookcases, disappearing from my view. “Princess...?” I say, too quiet to produce an echo, but not quiet loud enough for Luna to hear me. I glance upwards at her improvised lighting, the orbs still floating in the air. She couldn't have gone terribly far. I investigate my immediate surroundings, hoping to preoccupy my mind until the princess returns. The chamber is surprisingly clean, albeit covered in dust. Not a single paper nor ink stain litters the peaceful sanctuary. A few tables have been placed before the towering bookcases, forming a sort of common room. Several open books lay scattered amongst their surfaces. Though my curiosity is piqued, Luna specifically said not to touch anything. Still... literature from centuries ago? A pony couldn't find this anywhere else. The books lie there, a mere 15 feet from me, taunting me with their pages. I suppose just looking couldn't hurt.
